acid had become readily availabe all over campus, so it was at this time that he assumed the mantle of Hunter S. Thompson. Closely following the writer's death, he had cautiously begun to slip into the persona of the thompson while he dabbled every weekend with hallucinogens. Sometimes he would call me in the middle of the night and leave me messages mumbled in teh rhetoric and gibberish so typical of the dead writer. It was also during this time that the aviator sunglasses and flamboyant hawaiian shirts were introduced into his wardrobe, almost as if my friend had gone on a permanent vacation from reality. All he lacked for his complete costume was a cigarette clenched between his teeth while his paranoid eyes would scan the horizon. Often we would run into each other in public places and i would always encourage his adaptation of the greater. That was when i started doing acid. The last vestiges of winter being brushed aside, i calmly accpeted my fate at the end of my spring break. The last warm night of my break my car crawled reluctantly to his apartment but the night shook with intenisty, i think somehow the world felt my awakening was about to commence. I knew i had been avoiding this pivotal moment.